


they can't twist my words (if i don't speak)

by brokentombstone



Series: intentions of gold (with my plans) [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: 8x02 AU, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Political Jon Snow, Smart Starks, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Yes together, as in they are being political together, political jon and sansa, season 8 AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-04
Updated: 2020-06-04
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:20:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24532180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brokentombstone/pseuds/brokentombstone
Summary: Jon’s voice does crack then, “I can’t lose you. Not like that.”Sansa bristles. It is almost an admission. Jon doesn’t blink, just holds her in his gaze, begging. Even as her whole body swells with overwhelming emotions, she can’t agree with him. Not on this.“That is a risk I’m willing to take,” Sansa says steadily, “A risk you have taken a hundred times over when you left for Dragonstone.”--Jaime arrives. Theon returns. Daenerys grows restless. Jon and Sansa hunger for more.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark
Series: intentions of gold (with my plans) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1668775
Comments: 33
Kudos: 207





	they can't twist my words (if i don't speak)

**Author's Note:**

> so...I decided to finally continue this after three months! many people asked for more after part 1. speaking of. I highly recommend reading part 1 in order to understand everything that is happening here!

In the days since Bran had told them the truth about Jon’s parentage, Sansa hadn’t been alone with him for but a moment. She had spent all her free time reliving their conversation, the turns it took. Their almost kiss. Intoxicated, that is how she thought she felt. There were clearly so many other, more pressing matters, and yet Sansa had spent them consumed. With Jon, her cousin. Cousin. The word had never sounded so sweet. 

She recalled Bran's tale. Somewhere in the middle she thought she guessed where he was going, but she could tell Arya and Jon were still lost. She told herself she was just wishfully hoping for what she cannot have, fitting pieces of a puzzle together that aren’t meant to mesh. So she had listened on.

Despite Bran’s distance since his return to Winterfell, he had painted a beautiful tapestry of a story. He told them scraps of Lyanna’s life as a girl, weaving in pieces from their father’s childhood that they had never been privy to and then transitioned them to Rhaegar’s life. He told them of how he put Elia aside: disgracing her, all the Martell’s and his own children in the process. It wasn’t an unfamiliar story to any of them, but with Bran’s insights the story felt alive in a way that it hadn’t for a very long time. 

Sansa had watched the fire burn low and the dying embers lit all their faces in an amber glow that left something to be desired, a certain beautiful haunting to their features. She had thought perhaps that was the story of these last Starks, left haunted and half broken, they would only come back together in the dead of night. Unable to talk about anything besides the ghosts that came before them. 

When he came to the reveal, when it became apparent, Sansa was ready. She allowed herself to believe in those final moments that it was what he would say. And then he did. 

“Jon, you are not our father’s son. You are the son of Rhaegar Targaryen and our aunt, Lyanna Stark,” Bran had said with a crispness not unlike the howling wind outside Sansa’s chamber window. 

The air in the room had gone heavy. She felt as if she were stuck in a pot of honey and that all her limbs were useless. She knew that if she tried to speak she would only have a garbled half coherent response so she stayed in silence. If Arya and Jon’s reactions were any indication they felt the same way. 

Jon looked at their brother in disbelief, maybe tinged with anger and also something unidentifiable, maybe the slightest of hopes. 

Arya on the other hand was frozen in place and also appeared to be freezing, she was pale as the moon and looked like she might be sick.

Sansa feared her own facial expression.

In the end, it was Arya who broke first.

“But—surely someone would’ve… all these years and not a word? How could they keep a secret like that for so bloody long?” She sputtered out.

“Our father was a man of many secrets. He would’ve done anything to protect Lyanna and did even more to protect our cousin, Jon Targaryen,” Bran said somberly. 

“Don’t–don’t ever call me that,” Jon rasped out, “I’m not, not one of them. I–I can’t be.”

Sansa ached. She wanted to reach out for him, to comfort him and wrap him in her arms. Curl up with him under their furs and assure him that he, before anyone else, is part of the pack, her pack. But she still thought her legs weren't functioning and didn’t trust her mouth. 

“Jon is a Stark. It doesn’t matter who his parents were, he has our blood and our father was the only parent he ever knew. Lyanna and Rhaegar were ghosts long before he knew of them,” Arya said and shot a dark look toward their brother. 

Bran may be the Three Eyed Raven but Arya won’t let him get away with treating Jon as such. Nor does Sansa think she should.

“Arya, I—” Jon began but she cut him off.

“I won’t hear it Jon! You’re my brother!” Arya all but shouted and got to her feet, her temper rising. 

In the silence that followed Arya’s eyes landed on Sansa. 

“Sansa… ” She said with an unreadable tone, “Tell him. You agree don’t you? Jon is our brother and always will be.”

Arya’s eyes were wicked things Sansa thought. The way they could pierce you. She doesn’t know what Arya thought but she knew but she was putting Sansa into a place where she’s not sure she wants to be. 

And then she felt Jon’s eyes on her too, as if they carved a trail across her skin, yet she was drawn to him. Two halves to a whole, always trying to come together. 

And when their eyes locked, she saw his own widen. She watched him put the pieces together that she had realized minutes ago now. Cousins. What it would mean… And her face burned, with shame, with pleasure, and with fear. Fear that this thing between them is all of a sudden real, alive, and probably very, very, dangerous. She could only hope that it meant the same to him that it did to her. 

“Yes of course,” Sansa started and she can hear her own voice crack, “Jon… you’re a Stark, you’re a part of our pack and you are still our King. The King in the North. And… Ned Stark will always be your father.”

She had chosen her words so carefully. Careful to not claim him as a brother, when her thoughts betrayed her at every turn, she couldn’t. But the rest was true enough. He was a Stark and always would be. Ned Stark would be the only father he ever knew. She couldn’t take those things away from him, even if she couldn’t be the sister that he deserved. 

If Arya had any complaints she didn’t voice them. 

As for Jon she saw his eyes turn glassy and he barely got out a, “Thank you, Sansa,” before he hung his head. 

They all sat in silence for a few seconds and then Bran started, “Jon… I never meant to say you are not a Stark. Your mother had Stark blood in her. Merely that your name… by rights.”

“I know, it’s okay little brother,” and Sansa is relieved to see a small grin on Jon’s face. 

“It makes you the heir to the Iron Throne though, your name, that is,” Bran said and shocked them all again, Sansa included. 

This time Jon regained composure quicker, “But—I’m still a bastard, Lyanna and Rhaegar were unwed. Daenerys’ claim outranks mine.”

“Rhaegar sought an annulment with Elia and wed Lyanna in a secret ceremony. Your friend Samwell Tarly has the documentation from the citadel to prove it. As Rhaegar’s last surviving son your claim outranks that of his sister’s, Daenerys.”

And in a moment Sansa felt something akin to relief flood her body, only more potent. It gives them a chance. For what, she isn’t yet sure but she knows this information, having it can’t hurt them. It weakens Daenerys, even unrevealed. It gives them a back up. 

“Holy shit Jon! Holy shit! King of the Seven Kingdoms!” Arya sounded like a girl again, cursing to make a scene but also blind with enthusiasm. Her smile was huge. 

“I don’t want it, I’ll never want it,” Jon shook his head and Sansa could feel it. The weight that he will carry from this. Another crown he never asked for, another burden.

“We will never. Never tell anyone Jon. Not if you don’t want us to. It doesn’t leave this room without your permission, and I’ll do _whatever_ necessary to ensure Sam’s silence as well. But this information. It is dangerous, and yet it gives us power. Please, just think about all of it, what it means,” Sansa spoke directly to Jon, ignoring both Bran and Arya. 

Jon nodded at her.

After that Jon had left quickly, citing that he needed time to process and decompress. It had worried her but she let him be, knowing he would come to them in time. Arya and Bran hadn’t remained long either, and Sanas had been mercifully alone. She had called a bath to be drawn despite the lateness of the hour, and allowed the hot water to sink her into oblivion.

But today she has no such luxury of ignorance. She has several meetings to attend to and a war to prepare for. 

As she heads to her next meeting, with some Northern Lords, she ponders how she had just been unexpectedly accosted by none other than Tyrion Lannister, her once husband. In truth, it had been a dull conversation. 

He had tried to come to her on common ground, but she is unrecognizable to the girl who had half feared him and half looked to him for protection. And he too is changed. Half the man she once knew, half as clever and quick, following a woman that she is starting to suspect he fears. 

She had told him as much. _I used to think you were the cleverest man alive._ Sansa walks through Winterfell’s halls, a few people bowing to her, murmured ‘My Lady’s’ popping out here and there. She is in her domain. And she thinks about Tyrion’s look of dismay when she had said it. How he had known, without a doubt, that it meant she wouldn’t play his game, that she wouldn’t be his pawn.

No longer a pawn, she was a Queen. _Jon’s Queen._ Selfishly, those words had reverberated through her since he had said them several nights ago.. Because more than anything, it had solidified Jon’s position, his loyalty was to her first, and nothing could compare to how she savoured it on her tongue. 

She rounds the next corner and comes face to face with Arya. Her sister stands right in front of her and Sansa nearly collides with her. Damn Arya and her silent approaches. 

“What are you doing?” Sansa asks, suddenly annoyed. 

“We have to go,” Arya says and turns on her heel with no explanation.

Sansa follows without hesitating but asks, “Where exactly are we going?”

She has a meeting to attend but she trusts Arya implicitly. 

“Bran said to find you and get you to the Great Hall as soon as possible,” Arya says while bringing them closer to said destination. 

She doesn’t turn around and Sansa recalls how her eyes had been scandalized when she found Sansa and Jon, how she had scrutinized Sansa’s reaction to his parentage. She knows Arya will broach the subject when she decides, probably at the worst possible time, and in the meantime Sansa is left to wade through the tension. 

“From what I saw yesterday, the Dragon Queen is a loathsome thing,” Arya says absently, “Is it true what they say about her and Jon?”

Arya doesn’t even mention what the implication of that would be now that Jon’s parentage is known to them. Sansa doesn’t hurry to remind her. 

“Arya, you have to be careful,” Sansa hisses, looking around to ensure they aren’t overheard. 

“Nobody is around,” Arya says confidently and makes another turn. 

Sansa sighs.

“It is true he took her to bed, but no he doesn't love her. The pack comes first, it always will,” Sansa keeps her voice low. 

Arya looks over her shoulder, a question in her eyes that she doesn’t voice. 

“Well thank the Gods for at least one miracle,” Arya says finally.

And then they are at the doors to the hall. Neither of them pause and instead push open the doors upon approach. 

The sight before them makes Sansa’s stomach drop. 

Jaime Lannister. 

* * *

When they had arrived everyone else was already present, apparently awaiting their arrival to hear what it is he had to say. Jaime’s eyes had appraised her with interest but she had only given him a cool glare in return. Sansa and Arya had both taken their respective seats. Sansa’s placing her on Daenerys’ right, Jon, looking uncomfortable, was on her left. Daenerys’ eyes had followed her all the way to her seat, seemingly irate that Sansa hadn’t predicted Jaime would appear and thus was ‘late’ to the meeting. 

What a picture they must make, she thought, the Lady of Winterfell, The Dragon Queen, and the Warden of the North (Secret Heir to the Iron Throne, Sansa doesn’t forget for a second). Come together to decide the fate of Jaime Lannister. 

The meeting drags on. Daenerys monologues for a long while, about all the crimes that Jaime had committed against her family, about the dreams she had of destroying him. It was all a bit macabre for Sansa. Even as she recognized that she had her own fantasies about bringing down Daenerys. 

Sansa keeps quiet until talk turns to Cersei. It peaks her interest and when Jaime admits to Cersei’s deception she can’t help herself. 

“She never had any intention of sending her armies North,” Jaime says, with a deep rooted resignation. 

“As anyone with any sense of Cersei should’ve known the moment she pledged them,” Sansa snaps. 

Her anger is directed at all of them, even Jon, for falling for such an obvious deception. Daenerys seethes at the criticism beside her and Jaime just looks deeply saddened, if not slightly pathetic. Sansa steals a glance at Jon and sees he hasn’t reacted at all. It seems his time away has improved his skills of deception. 

A few minutes later, despite herself, Sansa comes to find herself in agreement with Daenerys Targaryen. She is loath to admit it but she has to speak up.

“You’re right, we can’t trust him. He has committed crimes against our family that are innumerable,” Sansa says with disgust and she feels Daenerys eyeing her approvingly.

Jaime doesn’t falter though and he is just as snappish in his retort, “We were at war, everything I did, I did for my house. And I’d do it all again.”

His defiance. It strikes a chord in Sansa, because she knows she feels the same thing now. It sends her to think about all that has transpired. How can she blame him for his crimes when he did it for those he cares most for? If someone threatened Jon… or Arya and Bran. Her eyes flicker to Jon uninhibited and as the conversation continues she wonders how Jaime perceives her. How he perceives the daughter his family held captive for years who now holds his fate in her hands. 

Before she can consider it fully Brienne is making a speech. And despite Sansa’s deep rooted hatred for the man, she is moved even further. Brienne is one who she trusts above all others… And her words. They make sense. They remind her of her mother, the woman who brought Brienne to Sansa’s aid in the first place. Her heart falters and she tries to channel her parents in helping her make the decision.

“You vouch for him?”

“I would.”

“You would fight beside him?”

“I would” 

Sansa considers Brienne for a long while. She sees desperation there, maybe something more in the way she speaks on Ser Jaime’s behalf. It is not her place to sentence this man to die. 

Sansa knows, before she says the words, that they will ruin any potential allyship between Daenerys and herself, but she can’t find it in herself to care very much. 

“I trust you with my life, if you trust him with yours, we should let him stay,” Sansa says with all the defiance she can muster. 

She feels Daenerys’ anger radiate in waves. She looks only to Jaime though who looks at her, slightly awed, slightly thankful.

When she finally turns to Daenerys she finds her lip turned up in a snarl but she has reshifted her attentions to Jon, who looks exhausted by the entire endeavour. 

“What does the Warden of the North say about it?” Daenerys’ words are a test.

It is an obvious test to everyone in the room. Who will Jon choose? His sister or his rumoured lover? Sansa knows she has Jon, knows that his loyalty belongs to her and her alone. But will he disagree with her for the sake of his game? Will she be able to endure the public rejection if he does?

“We need every man we can get,” Jon says and heaves a sigh, turning his face from Daenerys’.

Sansa lets out her own sigh of relief. Daenerys stares him down, nearly vibrating with rage. Sansa turns back to Ser Jaime and she sees him examining her, his eyes moving slowly between the three of them. As if in some dawning realization. 

And there is no more question in how he must regard her. He can only look to her and see her as she is. He has seen the score between her and Jon (And Daenerys’ role there) within seconds. All these clever men and it is Jaime Lannister who sees it because he  _ knows _ intimately what he is looking at. Yes, he sees her as she is. As Cersei. (It hurts Sansa to draw that parallel, despite its obviousness in the moment). Because Jaime’s eyes are too aware and they don’t stop perceiving even as they all begin to move. 

Daenerys stands first, pushing through her frustration and half a second later Sansa and Jon follow her (she doesn't miss how their people wait for them as well, but she hopes it eludes the Dragon Queen’s notice).

And then Sansa turns to leave before Daenerys, a clear message that she may come to regret. But Daenerys is not her Queen, she never will be. And Daenerys’ overly self-righteous behaviour in regards to Jaime Lannister frustrates her, she won’t listen to anyone besides herself not even in the face of destruction.

Sansa pauses, for one moment, at the door and turns to see Jon and Daenerys having some kind of silent showdown. She can only imagine that Daenerys is wishing Jon to rescind Jaime’s welcome, or thus chastise Sansa for leaving Daenerys standing like a fool in front of the whole hall. But Jon’s eyes only break from Daenerys’ and find Sansa’s own. He follows suit and makes his way towards Sansa, to accompany her out of the room. Sansa’s heart soars and the only thing that makes it falter is how as she turns from the room she sees Jaime Lannister watching the entire exchange.

* * *

Sansa doesn’t turn around. So she feels and hears, rather than sees Jon dogging her all the way through Winterfell’s surprisingly empty halls. With most of the people still milling about in the Great Hall they don’t come across anyone’s paths. The smallfolk who have come here are in other parts of the castle. 

They don’t speak, but the air is thick as they make their way through the home of their childhood. Sansa, if she thinks hard, can remember walking here with her mother and sister. On the way to lessons with their Septa. Sansa with her shoulders set and her head back held high, Arya kicking up a fuss all the way down. It feels like yesterday. It feels like another life. 

And in these memories, her brothers. Robb, proud and dutiful already. Theon and Jon both tagging along with him, half in adoration, half in envy. Bran, her troublemaker rascal who climbed everything and got everywhere. And baby Rickon, too young for the horrors he faced and the end he met. (Though Sansa supposes they were all too young, are  _ still  _ too young). 

She wishes, suddenly desperately, to go back. She had never thought of it before, but in the past her and Jon were the ones who were most desperate to leave Winterfell. He became set on the Night’s Watch, to escape his bastard name. Sansa had sought grandiose adventures and princes in the capital. And it had backfired on the both of them, fitting then, how they had been the ones to win it back. 

And now, here they are. Fighting to keep it, fighting to hold it all together. 

Sansa veers into a disused room suddenly, unable to take Jon’s silence anymore. She goes in and strides straight to the table that is in the centre of the room. She sits down on one of the chairs and crosses her legs, she resists crossing her arms too but she feels like maybe she should be defensive, like maybe Jon is going to rage at her. She wonders if she deserves it truly. 

Jon stays standing, he has locked the door, she hears the click. And for several moments he just stands there, as if in a trance, looking at Sansa from some fifteen feet away.  _ Too far,  _ her traitorous thoughts are omnipresent. 

Jon lets out a strangled sigh and pinches his nose, the exhaustion from before is seeping back in now that they are alone. She knows him well enough to see that. 

“You can’t do that Sansa,” Jon says, his eyes still closed and his voice low, “You have no idea–”

“I won’t be cowed in my own home Jon,” Sansa cuts across him.

Jon’s eyes fly open and he takes a few steps forward, laying his hands on the table and leaning over it. 

“I thought you trusted me! I thought you understood! That night, I thought…” Jon trails off and Sansa is relieved, she doesn’t know if she is ready for that conversation. 

“What do you want from me Jon?” Sansa asks and she means a thousand different things but any of them will do in the moment. 

Jon’s body tenses and he straightens up. 

“She won’t hesitate to kill you,” Jon says, his voice cracking on the last word and his eyes flash to hers. 

In them, there is only pain. And Sansa can understand. The thought of losing Jon, it is agonizing. When she had thought he might not return from Dragonstone, she could barely pull herself out of bed. Sansa keeps her face impassive, as if the danger is nothing to her. Jon notices and continues on. 

“She said as much, not in so many words.  _ ‘If she can’t respect me’  _ It’s not hard to decipher what she means and when you provoke her so openly, Sansa I–” Jon’s voice does crack then, “I can’t lose you. Not like that.”

Sansa bristles. It is almost an admission. Jon doesn’t blink, just holds her in his gaze, begging. Even as her whole body swells with overwhelming emotions, she can’t agree with him. Not on this. 

“That is a risk I’m willing to take,” Sansa says steadily, “A risk you have taken a hundred times over when you left for Dragonstone.”

Jon’s eyes harden then. And Sansa doesn’t understand how they have departed so much from the first night. They had almost, they had nearly, something had almost happened. And somehow, Jon’s parentage, it had pushed them further apart instead of drawing them closer together. 

Jon continues to scowl.

“Do you really oppose Jaime Lannister so much?” Sansa asks genuinely. 

Jon just shakes his head, “That’s not the point.”

“Arya hates her too,” Sansa says stubbornly, “Daenerys is not winning allies here.”

Jon finally takes a seat, his whole body sagging into the wood.

“You know I do not like her, as I have already told you. But Sansa, if we can’t work together on this… Everything I have done, all I have worked for. It is for nothing,” Jon says

There is devastation there in his look. Deep, and unknowable. Sansa is overcome with her own mistakes, her own missteps in all of this. Is this not Jon underestimating her all over but in reverse? Jon has given everything. His mind, body, soul, in order to bring Daenerys here. And her own burning hatred, the way her mind twists at the thought of the Dragon Queen (and she can’t deny that part of that comes from what she knows has passed between her and Jon, despite it being meaningless), it could cost them everything. Sansa is better than that. She must be. 

She looks at Jon and his head is down, not making eye contact with her. She reaches across the table and grasps his hand then, suddenly recalling how she did the same thing ages ago, when they committed to fight for Rickon and Winterfell, when they were different people altogether. 

“I’m sorry Jon,” Sansa says honestly and she watches as his head jerks up and his eyes widen, “I will try to do better with her. But I also won’t submit for the sake of my own safety.”

It is a compromise and Jon considers it for a few seconds and gives a brief nod. Sansa realizes that their hands are still linked. She is hot all over and she lets him go. Standing up and smoothing down her skirts in one fluid movement. 

“I have to meet with Yohn Royce,” She says, halfway to the door already. 

Jon looks confused at her abrupt change and then he calls out, “Sansa wait.”

Her hand is on the doorknob and she turns back to look at him, still sitting at the table. 

“You were right about Cersei. I’m sorry, I should’ve realized it was a false promise even if nobody else did,” Jon says.

Sansa smiles inwardly. 

“You’ve learned enough of the game already Jon, there is no apology necessary,” Sansa says.

She sees a look of shock hanging on Jon’s face as she spins out of the room.

* * *

Sansa is just finishing up talking with Yohn Royce when she sees the unmistakable glint of silver hair entering their room. 

It shouldn’t surprise her, not after what happened in the Great Hall with Jaime. Daenerys may be impulsive but her advisors aren’t and they are likely telling her the same thing Jon has told Sansa.  _ Play nice, win her over, it is our only hope _ . Oh, Sansa thinks, if only it were that easy. 

Sansa and Yohn Royce both rise as Daenerys draws closer. 

“Lady Stark, I was hoping to discuss some things privately with you,” Daenerys says, her voice is dripping in sweetness. It’s a little much if Sansa is honest. 

But she nods at Yohn Royce regardless and begs him leave. He casts her a worried look but obeys anyways. 

Sansa waits for Daenerys to come take the seat that he has left open and then they both sit down. For a few seconds there is an awkward silence. Sansa is not the one who initiated this meeting and she will wait patiently for Daenerys to say what she has wanted to say. 

“I thought we were finally learning to agree on something, with Ser Jaime. I would think you have as much reason as me to hate the man,” Daenerys says.

It is an obvious first statement, Sansa thinks, to bridge the distance between them. But Daenerys falters because they  _ didn’t  _ agree in the end. Sansa knows she will have to be careful.

“I have no love for the man nor will I ever, but I take the counsel of my advisors very seriously, Brienne especially,” Sansa says without changing her expression.

Something shifts in Daenerys’ and Sansa thinks that the other woman almost thinks she is lying, that she doesn’t trust Brienne. But then Sansa realizes it is just a mere lack of understanding once she speaks. 

“I haven’t been able to say the same about my advisors for some time,” Daenerys says almost ruefully.

Daenerys’ honesty takes her aback, it is not necessarily wise on Daenerys’ part. 

“Tyrion is far from perfect,” Sansa admits, she figures it is a safe answer. 

“He never should’ve trusted Cersei,” Daenerys agrees.

Sansa’s expression shifts subtly and flickers with annoyance. She dislikes how Daneerys seems incapable of taking any sort of accountability. 

“You never should’ve either,” Sansa says bitingly. 

Daenerys instantly scowls, disliking being scolded, she leans forward in her seat. 

“Tell me, Lady Stark. What have I done to make you dislike me so?” She asks with a hint of a dare, as if Sansa won’t rise.

And she almost considers dropping it for Jon’s sake but she also said she won’t bow for Daenerys’ ego. And so she chooses honesty in the end. 

“You wish to subjugate the North. Even after the fighting is done you will expect us to kneel. It is not something that I can ever come to abide easily,” Sansa says and lets her voice take on a hard edge.

Daenerys nostrils flare.

Sansa can hardly believe Jon lived with this woman for months. That he put up with this, that he was able to handle her. That he even… No. It is not a good thought to have here and now with her enemy so nearby. 

“You can still rule your people, Sansa. From what I understand we are similar in that way. We have both made our way in a world that wishes to crush women and disallow us any sort of power. With me as Queen and you as the Lady of Winterfell, Westeros would not be able to defeat us, but not if we are at odds with one another,” Daenerys almost grins, though it is more of a smirk. 

(And her teeth poke out, predatory like. Sansa recoils). 

Daenerys’ ongoing patience and persistence is actually impressive and more than what Sansa thought she had, but regardless Sansa hates her in that moment. For trying to draw the comparison of their suffering, of their pain. Of their hardships and hurdles. Because they are not the same. Sansa’s people respect her, Daenerys’ fear her. 

“And if I rule the North, where does that leave Jon?” Sansa asks, it is not the question that matters but the one she needs to know.

Daenerys’ eyes seem to come to some sort of understanding. 

“Your brother,” Daenerys says knowingly, as if they have come to the crux of the reason they are here.    
  
Sansa supposes they have. A man, half dragon, half wolf. Stuck between two women, one wolf and one dragon. Sansa sees Jon with Ghost, the last of them to retain his direwolf and thinks  _ Stark.  _ But she can’t ignore, though she has refrained from commenting, Jon’s dragon ride with Daenerys. It doesn’t matter, and it is likely necessary for their plans anyways. But still it lingers in the back of her mind. 

Sansa decides that Daenerys, at all costs, cannot think that Jon is stuck between them. Sansa decides she must lie, the way Jon has lied for moons now.

“He loves you, you know that,” Sansa says as if it annoys her. 

(And if it were true it would so that makes her feint quite easy to come by).

“That bothers you?” Daenerys asks, genuine confusion lining her features. 

“I worry that love clouds our judgement, especially men’s, they can become easily swayed. Even manipulated… ” Sansa trails off and she tries not to think how it has constantly clouded her own judgement. 

Daenerys gives a minute shake of her head and smiles, unable to keep her happiness from showing. (And oh, this is dangerous, Sansa thinks. Daenerys will rage if she ever finds out the truth). 

“I have had one goal my entire life. To regain the Iron Throne, to reclaim my birthright,” Daenreys says and Sansa has to fight not to react at what Daenerys doesn’t even know, about the truth of Jon’s parentage.

She keeps it together, but barely. 

“Everything I have done has been to achieve that goal and I have never strayed. Yet now I’m here, half a world away. Fighting Jon’s war, so tell me who manipulated whom,” Daenerys gives a small laugh. 

She acts as if it is all a joke. As if they are so happily in love that nothing could be further from the truth. And so Sansa forces herself to share in the joke, laughing and smiling as her eyes dance with the truth. Suddenly seeing how competent Jon has been, just how fully he has her, the Dragon Queen is in his palm. And she is proud, so proud of him and all he has done for them. So she continues the charade, fulfilling her promise to Jon. 

“I should’ve thanked you as soon as you got here,” Sansa says and looks into Daenerys’ eyes, the odd shade of purple they are. 

Daenerys reaches for her hand and Sansa almost flinches, remembering how she did the same thing to Jon not an hour ago.

“I’m here because I love your brother,” Daenerys assures her.

And Sansa only smiles, Daenerys thinks they have made peace. But fire licks at Sansa’s heels, from Daenerys’ dragons and from Sansa’s own heart. She will not let this woman come between them, not any longer. She will play pretend, she will be the gracious hostess. She will kneel, for Jon’s false promises and the farce they uphold. But she will never serve Daenerys Targaryen. 

Just then a Maester comes and interrupts the two of them. 

Sansa lets herself be led by the two of them from the room despite not knowing where it is they are being taken. She walks in amicable silence with Daenerys as they follow the Maester to another chamber not far off from where they had been. 

When she enters the first thing she notices is a group of men at the far end of the room talking amongst themselves. Nothing stands out to her. But then he turns. It is Theon, and Sansa freezes in place. 

He looks so solid, so healthy, so whole. Completely changed from the boy she ran through the woods with. And she can tell by his expression that he thinks the same of her. They are not the same broken playthings of Ramsay Bolton, they have outlived him and healed. 

Sansa stays rooted to the spot in silence as he finally pulls his eyes from her and bows to Daenerys.

“My Queen,” Theon says and as much as it irks Sansa to see this she can’t even process it because Theon is here, in Winterfell, where he belongs and she wants to run to him. Gods.

“Your sister?” Daenerys asks and Sansa only spares her the briefest glance. From it she can tell that the Queen has a forced sense of calm, that the entire meeting here is knocking her off balance.    


Theon speaks with confidence though, “She only has a few ships and she couldn’t sail them here so she is sailing them back to the Iron Islands instead. To take them back in your name.”

“But why aren’t you with her?” Daenerys' voice wavers, she is uncertain and clearly nervous.

But all of that drops off Sansa’s radar as Theon’s eyes return to Sansa’s. She feels herself stop breathing. Theon glances to the floor once and then meets her eye dead on as if he is readying himself for the most frightening thing he has ever done. 

“I want to fight for Winterfell Lady Sansa,” Theon says, “If you’ll have me.”

There is a pause as thoughts rush through Sansa. Stupid Theon, as if it was a request that would ever be denied. As if she  _ could  _ deny it after everything that they had endured together. And then, that Theon is even here, coming to fight side by side with her and her siblings. It is where he was always meant to be, at their side, with them at the end of the world. Then Sansa is releasing a shuddering breath and a few tears find their way down her cheeks as she propels herself across the room into his arms. 

She doesn’t know the last time she felt so safe as she hugs him close to her and he holds her in his arms, a near vice grip on each other as sobs start to wrack her body. She doesn’t know how long they stand there like that, she thinks the room clears eventually. After at least several minutes she finally breathes into his ear. 

“He is dead, fed to his own dogs.”

* * *

Much later, Sansa finds Theon waiting to get served soup.

“You don’t have to do it you know. There is nothing left owed between our families,” Sansa says as she sidles up beside him.

The war council is over, the Long Night upon them and she needs to give Theon the chance to get away from the worst of the fighting. Despite her earlier thoughts that it is where he belongs. She knows that he deserves more, that he deserves safety and love and life. All things that could be taken from him watching over Bran. (And Sansa won’t let herself think of the danger Bran will be in, lest she crumble right there). 

Theon turns to her, “It is not about what is owed. It is about what is right, about the kind of man I want to be Sansa.”

Sansa is silent for several seconds and then, “That is already the man you are Theon.”

Theon is startled by her words but he doesn’t respond. They move to the front of the line and get their soup, then move off to find a place to eat. 

After her admission about Ramsay, neither of them feel the need to bring it up further. That is their past and these may very well be the last of their days. It is time to revel in happier things. 

“It was a mistake,” Theon begins, “Pledging our loyalty to her. She wouldn’t even help us rescue Yara.”

Sansa’s eyes widen at the open treason even though she feels the same way. She had not planned to press the issue between them. 

“When I asked to fight for Winterfell. You didn’t see her face when you hugged me,” Theon shakes his head, “She is threatened by you Sansa. She wants what you have.”

“And what is that?” Sansa asks evasively and takes a spoon of soup. 

“Loyalty, true loyalty and people who admire and follow you because of your leadership and not because of your dragons,” Theon says, “Devotion.”

Sansa’s throat lodges in her throat and she has to take a drink of water before she can respond. 

“Then perhaps she is right to be threatened,” Sansa says mildly. 

Theon just looks at her again, “Promise me you’re being careful.”

Sansa can’t speak the words so she only nods. Theon looks unconvinced but doesn’t press further.

They devolve into sharing what has happened to both of them since they last parted. Highlighting the best and avoiding the worst. Sansa laughs more than she has in ages and it doesn’t feel like they’re about to go to war, not at all. It must be nearly an hour, their bowls long empty when she says it. 

“I’m glad you are here Theon,” Sansa says and can’t keep the tears from springing to her eyes. 

“Me too,” Theon admits and looks down to his empty bowl.

Sansa reaches for his hand, “You may be a Greyjoy in name but you are a Stark in your heart. You have always been one of us, you always will be.”

Theon’s eyes glisten and then the war bell chimes.

Sansa is on her feet in an instant. She thought they had more time. She thought she had time to seek out Jon. To find Arya and Bran. But now her heart races, she is in a panic. And her hand is still in Theon’s, he has stood up with her. 

“I have to find Jon, I have to go–” Sansa says frantically looking around at the chaos that is beginning around them. 

Theon squeezes her hand once and then drops it, “Go Sansa. I’ll be fine. I’ll see you when it is all over. Go find Jon, he needs you now.”

And there is something in his eyes that says he knows something she doesn’t, not quite yet. And she wonders if she was that obvious in their talks, when Jon came up. But she doesn’t have time to turn it over anymore. 

She hugs him once, too quickly and gives him a peck on the cheek. Then she is rushing away. 

“Stay safe Theon! Promise me!” She calls as she moves through the crowd.

“I promise!” Theon calls over the crowd. 

And they are the last words she ever hears him speak. 

**Author's Note:**

> umm so when I wrote part 1 i didn't TRULY intend for this to be a series but I have been re-inspired and so many people wanted more so I will continue it but absolutely no promise on the timeline of when this will get done. (As i wrote this while procrastinating editing my WIP lol). That being said, writing these short rewrites of S8 is very therapeutic and cathartic to get out my feelings about the season and they are a lot of fun. If you look at the series description I talk about my inspiration and what my plans for the series are (basically a part for each episode). So please leave a comment if you enjoyed this and I would love to discuss it with you! And I will see you for part 3....eventually haha!


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